Tag: writing

Escape

 

Branches clawed at her arms and face, leaving drops of morning dew as they took her blood in trade. Her chest was on fire, her breaths ragged and short. When a bird screeched above her she dove towards the base of the closest tree. She whimpered as its call echoed through the woods, picked up and repeated by others until the forest canopy was alive with sound.

She desperately searched the area, crawling through the mud and leaves, digging and tunneling under limbs until she had her entire body nestled close to the trunk of a large bush, still whimpering and panting. The caws and screeches grew in volume, almost deafening, and closer. Too close. She clamped her hands over her mouth, trying not to breathe, listening intently.

The ground beneath her shook as something heavy landed nearby, then another, and another and the forest fell silent. She tried desperately to remain quiet, still her shaking body, drawing in quick breaths through her fingers, her eyes darting and searching for any sign of movement. Tears flowed down her cheeks, leaving a clean pink trail through the grime and dirt covering her face.

How did it come to this? Yesterday life was normal, boring even. She was jogging, earbuds in, music blaring, her biggest worry what to eat when she got home. Then everything went black and when she finally came to and opened her eyes, the world had gone insane. She found herself in a cage within a row of cages, each one holding a bedraggled and blood-covered, cowering woman. And then she saw them.

The humanoid creatures were over 6 feet tall with midnight black gleaming feathers, human-sized raven-like heads with cruel charcoal colored beaks. It just wasn’t possible. Her mind kept screaming that at her, all through the night and into the next day.

When one of the creatures opened her cage this morning, she shot at its legs like a bullet, knocking it off balance. She didn’t stop running, though she could hear the other women screaming for her to release them. She’d get out, then she’d send help back. It was their only chance. Her only chance.

She’d run through the dark, bouncing off rocky walls, disoriented, chasing a tiny ray of light in the distance. The light grew bigger, brighter and she burst out of the opening into the forest. And now she was trapped again. Not a cage, but a bush, surrounded by those … things. A faint noise caught her attention, familiar but what was it? It was a car, a vehicle, growing fainter as it drove away. There must be a road nearby. She was going to make it out and she was going to help those girls. Time to make a break for …

She screamed and fought wildly as she was yanked from the bush, dangling in the air inches away from its face and then the world went dark one last time.

 

 

Categories: Short Story Writing

Tags: , , ,

The Wallet

 

Jarod and Christine walked slowly across the parking lot towards the stadium, weaving through the cars in the parking lot.  Jarod tugged at the bill of his ball cap, sneaking a glance at Christine as he did.  He couldn’t believe she had actually agreed to come to the baseball game with him.  She smiled at him and he grinned nervously at her.

 

“Hey Jarod, some of the guys are going to sneak out and go eat at JayJay’s, wanna go?”

 

“Across the highway?  I don’t think so.  ‘Sides, I promised your dad we wouldn’t go anywhere but the ballpark.”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re scared of my dad,” she half-teased, stopping to stare at him.

 

“Well, yeah, I guess I am,” he reluctantly admitted.  “Anyways, I really want to see the game – the Coyotes are making a run for the play-offs.”

 

Christine stopped, hands on her hips, and glared at him.  “Humph, sounds boring to me.  What happened to the Jarod who spray painted the school?”

 

Jarod’s face flushed red, heat crawling up his face.  “What are you talking about?”

 

Christine’s eyes narrowed as she pushed her hair behind her ears.  “Come on Jarod, everyone knows it was you that did it.  What are you getting so worked up about?”

 

He shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged.  Without a word he began walking towards the stadium, head down, staring at the ground.  He didn’t even wait to see if Christine would follow him.

 

She thought I was a ‘bad boy’, that’s the only reason she agreed to come to the game with me.  How did she know about the spray-painting?  All those hours of sitting in that metal chair, that security guard looking at me like I had killed someone and then Mom . . . that look she had, she was so disappointed – she’s never looked at me like that before . . .

 

“Earth to Jarod, you in there somewhere?”

 

Jarod smiled weakly at Christine, surprised to see her still there.

 

“Sorry, I’m here.”

 

Jarod’s steps picked up a little, and then he saw his dream car – a silver convertible Spyder with the top down.  He whistled appreciatively, circling the car.  Christine waited for him, her lips curling up in amusement.  He ignored her for the moment, having eyes only for the car.  Then he noticed something by the back tire – a wallet!

 

He reached down and grabbed it, instinctively looking around to see if anyone was near.  Christine moved beside him, a glint in her eye.

 

“Is there any money?”

 

“I don’t know, I need to see if there’s a driver’s license though.”

 

Jarod opened the wallet – it was full of money!  He sucked in his breath, fingering through the bills quickly.

 

“There must be a $1,000 in here!”

 

Christine shouldered in next to him and blinked down at the money.

 

“I can’t believe it!  You’re so lucky – hey, you could buy everyone dinner at JayJay’s, everybody would be so excited . . . and impressed.”  She eyed Jarod coyly, her tongue darting out to lick at her lips.

 

“This isn’t my money and I’m not keeping it – I’m turning it in with the wallet.”

 

Christine exploded, her eyes narrowing in anger.  “Are you insane? Nobody turns in wallets, especially not ones with over a thousand dollars in them!  Think of all you could do with that money.  Look at this car – this guy will never miss that money.  You’re being stupid,” she spit out the last, her face wrinkled in disgust.

 

His face set stubbornly, Jarod turned to face the angry girl.

 

“I don’t care what you think; I’m not keeping this wallet.  I’m turning it in to Security in the park.”

 

“I’ve had it!  I’m going to JayJay’s – I don’t care what YOU do.”  With that Christine turned and stormed off.

 

Jarod stood there dumbfounded, unable to believe this perfect day had gone so bad so fast.  Sighing he turned and headed for the gate.

 

“Excuse me, can you tell me where Security is?”

 

The gate attendant pulled him to the side and mumbled something into his radio.  Jarod hoped it was a call for Security but he hadn’t been able to understand a single word.  Within minutes a large man in a bright yellow shirt with “Security” emblazoned on it in black strode towards him.

 

“Can I help you, son?”

 

“Yes sir, I found this wallet out in the parking lot and wanted to know where to turn it in at.”

 

The man blinked at Jarod in surprise before his face erupted in a smile.  He clapped Jarod on the shoulder and led him to the security office.  While they were walking the man talked into his radio and then listened intently to the answer.  Whatever he heard seemed to satisfy him and he turned his attention back to Jarod.

 

“I’m Randy, what’s your name?”

 

“Err; my name is Jarod, Jarod Jones.”

 

“Well, Jarod Jones, it is a real pleasure to meet you.  There’s someone coming who is going to be even MORE pleased to meet you.”

 

Before Jarod could question Randy the door to the office flew open and a guy only a few years older than Jarod came barreling in with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

 

“I don’t know, sir, I just now got into the office.  Hold on for just a second.”

 

He pressed the phone to his chest and jogged over to Randy.  His blonde hair was standing on end and his entire face was burgundy.  The state of his hair seemed to be from the boy’s nervous habit of running his hand through it as if to pull it out by the roots.  He did this twice before he reached Randy.

 

“Please tell me it’s all there Randy,” he burst out, pleading with the officer to lie to him if necessary.

 

“It’s all there Shawn, every last penny.”  Randy’s face was stretched into a large grin, showing nearly all his teeth.

 

“I don’t believe it!  How?  Who?  When?”

 

“Your savior is young Jarod here – he found it in the parking lot and brought it straight to us.”  Randy winked at Jarod, who was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable – rather like a large fish in a very small bowl.

 

Shawn turned to Jarod, relief flooding his face.  He was so flustered all he could do was stutter gibberish until he finally took a deep breath.

 

“Thank you so much.  I just got this job running errands for the owner of the baseball team; it’s only my second day.  I can’t believe I lost his wallet.”

 

Randy cleared his throat, and when Shawn looked at him he nodded towards Shawn’s cell phone.  Shawn jumped as if he was holding a snake and pressed the phone to his ear.

 

“It’s all here, Mr. Owens.  I’m so sorry, sir.  It will never happen again . . . Err, a kid named Jarod.  He brought it to Security and . . . oh, yes sir, I’d be happy to sir.  Oh, good idea, he’ll like that . . . okay, I’ll wait for your call.”

 

Shawn hung up the phone and opened the wallet. He pulled out two hundred dollar bills and handed them out to Jarod.

 

Jarod stared at his hand, hanging in midair with the bills in it, not sure what was going on.

 

“Go on, Jarod.  Mr. Owens said to give you a reward, and you’ve earned it.”

 

“I didn’t do anything,” protested Jarod.

 

“Yes you did,” countered Shawn.  “A lot of people wouldn’t even have bothered to turn the wallet in – and to turn it in with all the money still there?  Anyway, Mr. Owens said to give you this.  Take it and I’ll walk out with you, okay?”

 

Jarod tentatively reached out and took the two hundred dollars, a ghost of a smile crossing his face.

 

“Thank you, Shawn.  And please thank Mr. Owens for me too.”

 

“You can thank him yourself.  He’s invited you up to his skybox to watch the game.  You’ll have it all to yourself because he’s out of town.  Well, almost to yourself.  You’ll have to share with me and my baby sister, Shayla.  But Mr. Owens listens to the game on his computer, and he’ll call in several times during the game.”

 

“No way,” breathed Jarod, “the skybox?  Oh man, that is unbelievable.”

 

Shawn laughed and slapped Jarod on the back.

 

“Come on; let’s get going before the game starts.”

 

They both called goodbye to Randy, who was chuckling and shaking his head.  The next thing Jarod knew he was on an elevator and when the doors opened he was in a large room with couches, tables, and one whole wall of windows.  He raced over and looked down, to a perfect view of the baseball field.  Laughing with pleasure he headed for a couch, then almost jumped out of his skin to realize there was already someone sitting there.  A gorgeous someone.  A gorgeous someone just his age with long red hair and deep green eyes.

 

Shawn grabbed some sodas from the icebox, while Jarod stared at the floor in embarrassment.

 

“Jarod, this is my baby sister, Shayla.  Shayla, this is Jarod – he’s going to watch the game with us.”

 

With that Shawn plopped down in a chair and stared down at the field, forgetting either of them was there.

 

“Hello Jarod, it’s nice to meet you.”

 

“It’s nice to meet you too, Shayla.  Hope you don’t mind me barging in on you and your brother for the game.”

 

“Not at all, it will be nice to have someone to actually talk to.  He’s so into baseball that we won’t hear a word from him until the last pitch.”

 

Jarod settled back onto the couch, talking to Shayla as if they’d known each other forever.

 

It turned out to be the perfect day after all he thought.

 

Categories: Short Story Writing

Tags: , , , , ,

The Vulture

 

 

Do you like scary movies?  I used to love them.  I don’t mean those slasher flicks they have now, I’m talking the classics.  The movies that scared you more by what they didn’t show, than what they did.  For instance the original Jaws – can you honestly tell me that after seeing that movie you never had a moment of total panic, even years later?  Well I’ll admit it.  Even now I could be swimming in a lake, treading water, and a current will touch my foot and all of a sudden I just know that lurking deep beneath me is a giant shark, gliding up from the depths, opening that cavern full of razors he calls a mouth – ah even thinking about it gives me the chills.  Anyway, like I was saying, I used to love them . . . until the night I saw the vulture for the first time.

 

All the self-inflicted terror of my earlier years was no comparison to what I felt after the birth of my son, Christian.  I would lay awake at night, scaring the bejeebers out of myself by imagining the most horrible things.  When he was a baby it was SIDS, RSV, asthma, and a million other things that my over-active mind imagined, and I found the only way to calm myself would be to sneak in to look at him … closely . . . to ensure he was still breathing.

 

When he hit 3 my nightmares changed to fear of falling accidents (that little daredevil had no fear, climbing up the highest thing he could reach and then leaping off as if to prove he could fly), pedophiles, or mistreatment by other kids that would permanently scar him.  Did I mention I had a very active imagination?  I kept the monitor turned up high at night so I could hear the slightest noise, and there were times when a simple burp would come through loud enough to knock me off my bed.

 

One night I woke up at 3:30 a.m., with no idea what had interrupted my slumber.  From habit I decided to go check on Christian.  He was very proud of himself for getting a “big-boy bed”, and enjoyed using every inch of that twin mattress.  That night he was lying sideways, curled up against the side rail which kept him from tumbling off onto the floor during his nightly gymnastics routine.  Then my eyes drifted up towards the headboard, and I almost lost control of my bladder.  Perched there, staring holes through me with beady black soulless eyes, was an enormous vulture.  It had to be at least 3′ high and it was more than black, it was an anti-color – the color of a black hole, or the door to hell.

 

My brain refused to accept what it was seeing at first, and I must have blinked a thousand times in less than a minute, hoping this apparition would disappear, but it remained.  The vulture continued to eye me as my protective instincts kicked in and I started towards it.  I grabbed one of Christian’s plastic golf clubs, hoping it would withstand the hit I was about to give.  The bird never moved as I approached, but as I reared back to swing the club its beak cracked open into a malicious grin.  Before I could begin the swing the bird just popped out of existence.  Badly shaken I rested my weight on the club for a moment before my knees gave out and I collapsed to the ground.  Dripping with sweat I crawled into bed with my son, and slept no more that night.

 

A week went by with no further encounters, and I had just about convinced myself I had imagined the entire episode when it repeated itself.  This time, however, the club was only inches away before the bird disappeared and the resounding crack against the wall woke up Christian.  He seemed to take his mommy standing over his bed with a plastic golf club in stride, and went right back to sleep.  Once again, I joined him, glaring at the headboard until the sun finally came up.

 

This went on for a month, with no real pattern.  The vulture would be there one night, gone for a few days, back again for two nights in a row, and on and on.  During the day I researched everything I could find on supernatural, vultures, ghosts, premonitions, anything I could get my hands on.  I knew vultures were scavengers, and fed on dead flesh before I started.  The only thing I truly learned from my research was that I was utterly alone; there was no precedent for what I was going through.

 

Then the vulture started appearing two or three nights in a row before taking a day off.  Within 3 months the evil creature was perching every single night.  By this time I had become convinced that the bird was a harbinger of death.  He was warning me that something was going to happen to my son.  Finally, on my son’s 4th birthday, the vulture appeared during the day.  That day I took an extended leave from work and pulled my son out of daycare.  I was not going to let anything happen to my beautiful baby boy.  Christian thought it was great fun at first, he had me home all day and my undivided attention.

 

I began making lists of anything that could possibly happen to my son.  I refused to let him go outside, in case someone jumped the fence and took him or a car lost control and crashed through.  Then I began to be afraid to drive anywhere with him because of accidents.  I grew afraid to order take-out, in case someone had poisoned the food or the delivery person was actually a serial killer.  I stopped answering the door at all, afraid of who, or what, might be on the other side.  And still the vulture appeared, more frequently, all through the day and night.  Interestingly enough, Christian couldn’t see the bird, but he always knew when it was present.  He would immediately be at my side, peering around the room from behind my leg.

 

I called all my family and friends and told them that Christian and I were going on an extended trip with some money I had come into, in hopes that people would stop beating on the door.  I stopped my mail, because I was afraid to take Christian with me to the mailbox, but more terrified of leaving him in the house by himself.

 

I found myself lying beside Christian on the couch in the living room one day, thinking to myself that maybe I should just end it for both of us.  At least that way we could go together and I could make sure he didn’t suffer.  The vulture was roosting on the back of the couch, not a foot away from me, and I could feel the evil projecting from the bird in tidal waves.  I looked down at my son, my handsome little boy.  He had the most beautiful eyelashes, long enough that even most supermodels would have killed for them, and deep green eyes, with gold flecks radiating out from the center.

 

And then I really looked at him.  His skin had grown pale, from lack of sun.  His little ribs were visible through his shirt, from lack of food.  His hair hung down in his face, not having been cut in months.  There were deep red marks under his eyes, and his cheeks were starting to sink in.  Over the last few days he had lost all energy, barely moving from the couch at all.  He was dying.

 

All of a sudden I was furious.  I mean angry enough to take on a whole football team of serial killers and kick butt and take names.  I thought I had been protecting my son, but I was not letting him live.  He was being deprived of friends, fun, and family and all because of this damn BIRD!

 

I jumped off the couch with my fists clenched and my face blood-red and I looked at that vulture.  I stared him down until he was the first to look away.  And then I woke up my son.  I told Christian to go to his room and get dressed, because he and mommy were going out.  We were going to get a Happy Meal and then we were going to the park.  When we got done there we were going to the grocery store and I was going to stock the house back up and make him anything he wanted for dinner, and we were going right now.

 

The vulture puffed up to twice his size as Christian rushed passed him to get dressed.  Then it opened its wings and a twinge of fear shot through me in spite of the anger.  The wings stretched out past both ends of the couch, and when the vulture started flapping it was like being caught in a tornado.  It opened its beak and emitted a sound like a thousand fingernails scraping a chalk board.  The sound roared through me and I clapped my hands over my ears as the pain drove me to my knees.  I fought back to a standing position, keeping that vision of what this bird, and as a result I, had done to my son.  I fought the wind, and I fought the pain, and I looked through the eyes of the demon and did not back down.  Then I heard it, faint at first, but growing with each heartbeat.  A trilling that was vaguely familiar, and that beat back the pain the vulture was inflicting.  My heart grew stronger, my resolve didn’t waver.

 

That’s when the vulture leapt into the air and shot towards me.  I heard the tinkle of broken glass, saw a flash of red, and before the vulture could reach me it had reared back emitting a shriek.  The vulture looked almost human for a second, its face registering complete shock and a tinge of fear.  For a second it looked as if the vulture would try again, and that’s when the robin flew down and landed on my shoulder.  The vulture’s black eyes radiated a lifetime of hatred at the little bird, who sat there calmly, head cocked to one side as if to say, “Are you still here?”  The vulture vanished with a scream of pure rage, and I never saw it again except for my worst nightmares.

 

The robin remained for another moment, and a river of warmth spread through me filled with hope, faith, and love.  It hopped off my shoulder and bounced over to the window.  For a split second, with the sun shining in behind it, I had an impression of a large winged glowing figure, superimposed behind the little bird.  Then it disappeared.

 

That was sixteen years ago.  Christian is now in college, and I am so proud of him.  I don’t get to see him as much as I’d like, but I understand that he has his own life to live.  I’m sitting at the kitchen table.  I was drinking coffee while reading the paper, but now I’m just reading the same article over and over, my heart racing.

 

Vulture or Victim

 

Koreen Reynolds was arrested this morning at her home.  Authorities were called to the scene by a worried relative who hadn’t seen her or her four year old son, Lee, in weeks.  Police finally kicked in the door after an hour of trying to talk the woman out of the house.  Upon entering the residence police found the woman curled up into a corner of the living room, rocking the body of her dead son.  The cause of death has not been officially released, but a medical source revealed that the child had been smothered, and had apparently been dead for days.  Ms. Reynolds has told authorities that she killed her son to keep “the vulture from getting him.”  When questioned further, Ms. Reynolds revealed that she has supposedly been “haunted by a ghostly vulture, intent on causing her son pain.”  Her story is that she killed her son so he wouldn’t have to suffer.  Ms. Reynolds has been remanded to a state mental institution for testing and diagnosis.  Friends of the Reynolds’ are shocked.  They describe Ms. Reynolds as a, “. . . loving, caring mother.  She loved her son more than life itself.  I can’t believe she would ever intentionally harm him.”

 

Now I know I’m not alone, and my heart aches for this woman I do not know.  If only she had found the strength to stop and realize that you can’t protect your child from everything.  Sometimes they just have to get out there and fall from the monkey bars, leap off the rope into the lake, or deal with bullies.  It’s part of growing up, and they have to have the bad as well as the good in order to be able to function as an adult.

 

More than anything, I wish she had been strong enough to see the robin.

Categories: Short Story Writing

Tags: , , , , , , , , ,

Second Chance

 

A blanket of white covered the neighborhood, courtesy of the first snowfall of winter.  The sky was just beginning to lighten, dawn steadily making her way beneath the horizon.  Tired, red-rimmed eyes peered out into the darkness, waiting for the first sign of life.  A circle of fog rhythmically spread and faded as the old woman, her forehead pressed against the cold pane of the window in her second-story bedroom, breathed in and out.  Her white hair, once thick and a gorgeous chestnut color, had thinned to the point where her skull was readily apparent.  What was once a voluptuous, flawless beauty was now a thin, wrinkled and sagging creature.

 

She stared off into the distance, not looking at the fresh carpet of snow, but seeing images from her past.  She had always been proud and independent, and more than a touch stubborn, and that much had remained the same.  Yellowed eyes flicked to the large digital readout emblazoning the current time onto her wall, and she sighed as she realized she still had at least an hour before the house would begin to stir.  With nothing else to occupy her thoughts, she returned to her inner scrutiny of her life.  She had a daughter, Paprika, that she loved more than life, and who had brought her much joy over the years.  Her house had been paid for decades earlier, and there was the escrow account which paid for all living expenses.  She had her family, her friends, her faith, a roof over her head, and had led a fairly prosperous life.  Still, there was a bitter, cold core at the center of her heart that time had not eased in the least.

 

A sudden movement in the darkness below shook her out of her reflections.  She strained her eyes, staring down the street, trying to detect what had caught her attention.  At the very end of the block a figure slowly moved into view, and the air grew heavy around her.  It was clothed in a black, hooded cloak that covered from head to toe, making it impossible to even guess whether the person was male or female.  The figure was walking in a direction that would lead them directly in front of her window, and she leaned closer trying to discern some clue as to the cloak-wearer’s identity.  As the figure neared her house, the woman jumped back as the window she had been leaning against was suddenly covered by a sheet of ice.  The old woman swept at the ice with her afghan, and when that didn’t work scraped at it with her fingernails.  By the time she had cleared a section large enough to see through, the figure had disappeared.

 

Then she heard the front door of the house creak open.  An ocean of fear washed over her as her breath was sucked from her chest, not even leaving enough wind to call out.  The carpeting in the hall softened the sound of the footsteps approaching her room at the top of the stairs but did not silence them completely.  Her eyes doubled in size as her bedroom door slowly swung open, and the figure in black glided into the room.  She sat, frozen in fear, as it came to a stop a few feet away.  Black-gloved hands appeared and swept up to remove the hood of the cloak.  Time seemed to stand still.  Where she had not had any breath at all moments earlier, she now found herself taking in too much air, as she began to hyperventilate.

 

The gloved hands swept back the hood, revealing a woman of unearthly beauty.  Waves of silver hair flowed down her back, reaching for the ground.  Skin the color of moonlight glowed around blue eyes deep enough to drown in.  Pearly white teeth gleamed in the darkness as the woman’s face softened into a smile, and the old lady’s fear had vanished before the smile was complete.

 

“Hello Avalon, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.  Would it be all right if I called you Ava?  That is what your friends call you, and we will be great friends, you and I.”

 

The words had drifted through the air, like dust motes in sunlight, and Ava found herself nodding to the vision without even thinking.

 

“Well then Ava, that makes things much more comfortable, shall we sit down?  We have much to discuss and you have little strength left.”

 

Ava collapsed back into the chair she had been occupying for the last few hours, and the stranger glided over and perched on the end of Ava’s bed.

 

Finally regaining at least a hint of her wits, Ava managed to ask three questions at once, without even forming a sentence, “Who . . .what . . . why are you . . .”

 

The woman grinned, revealing dimples that further softened her face.  “Let’s start with who, since that is the quickest to answer.  Your race has many names for me, but you may call me Geocor.”

 

Ava buried her head in her hands.  Her muffled voice came from between clenched fists.  “It’s my time to die, isn’t it?  That’s what you are – you’ve come to take me . . .” Nothing else could be understood as Ava broke into sobs that wracked her entire body.

 

Geocor was beside Ava in a heartbeat.  She stood beside the chair and pulled the shaking woman into an embrace, whispering into her ear.  “Shh, there now . . . Ava, calm yourself, please.  This is not your moment of death.  I am here to offer you an extraordinary opportunity.”

 

Ava peered through her clenched fingers; hope lit her eyes from within dampened by disbelief and skepticism.  “I’m not dead?”

 

Geocor held out her hands and, after a moment’s hesitation, Ava took them and allowed herself to be pulled out of her chair.  Geocor led Ava by the hand to her vanity, and together they stared into the large, ornate mirror there.  For a fleeting moment, the image staring back at Ava was herself, in her thirties, still full of dreams and hope, eyes filled with an unending curiosity and love of life.  The image blurred and when it came back into focus it showed Ava, beaten down by the passage of time.  Her eyes, though still filled with curiosity, had lost their love of life somewhere along the way.  Those curious eyes turned to the pale vision beside her, “You said something about an opportunity?”

 

Geocor’s eyes shown with delight, “You were always so strong in spirit, Ava.  I’m glad to see that hasn’t changed.  Yes, I am here to offer you an opportunity.  For many years I have watched you, and my heart has ached for you.  It has always been clear how much you love your family and friends.  You have a kind heart, but it is also a closed heart, for you shut down a piece of yourself many moons ago.”

 

Ava’s eyes glistened with tears as Geocor continued.  “I am here to give you a choice, a chance to rewrite your life.  I have limited powers, but power enough to send you back in time and give you the chance to change one major event, or decision if you will.”

 

Ava, her knees feeling quite weak again suddenly, walked in a daze back to her chair by the window.  Collapsing into it, she stared out the window in a trance, everything else forgotten, as her mind traveled back in time to the one event that changed her life forever.

 

She was thirty years old and completely at peace with her life, except for the fact that she had been told she would never have children.  She found pleasures in the simple things, curling up on the couch and reading a good book, or sitting in front of the fireplace on cold days sipping her coffee.  Anything that she could do at home she lived for, she was a homebody and was never more content than when she was puttering around the house.  One night her friends had surprised her by showing up on her doorstep and informing her, with a stubbornness to match her own, that she would be going out with them tonight and they were not taking no for an answer.  Caving in to the inevitable, she had felt a thrill of excitement as they helped her pick out an outfit, and within an hour they were headed for the club.

 

Her friends went out quite often and had enough friends that worked the door and the bars spread throughout the club that getting in was no problem and every other drink was free.  She had paced herself, knowing full well that she couldn’t handle much alcohol because she had built up no tolerance for it.  The girls moved in a pack from area to area, for this club had 5 “mini-bars” inside and offered everything from Techno to Country to Karaoke, dancing here and there but mainly staying together and having a great time.

 

Then she had spotted him, walking right towards her.  He was tall, 6’1″, with midnight-black hair, forest-green eyes, and lips slightly chapped from a nervous habit of licking them, yet still immensely kissable.  He had walked up to her at the bar, introduced himself as Hayden, and shyly asked her to dance.  They had danced all night long, and Ava found herself closing the bar down for the first time in years.  When the lights came on at 2 a.m., Hayden had asked her if she would accompany him to breakfast, and not wanting the night to end, she had agreed as long as her friends could come too (safety was always an issue).  After breakfast they stood in the parking lot and talked until the sun came up.  They were inseparable from that point on.

 

Within a year, Ava discovered she was pregnant, and Hayden seemed as happy about this as she was.  They got a house together and began planning for a life together with a child.  And that was where things went wrong.  The pregnancy was a very difficult one, and 5 months into it Hayden seemed to be gone all the time, leaving her alone to deal with the nausea, decorating, and other duties.  He traveled with his job and seemed to be gone more often each month.  Finally, it came to a head two days before Christmas, with Ava six months pregnant.

 

Hayden’s twenty-two-year-old girlfriend called the house to inform Ava that Hayden would not be returning home and asked Ava to pack all his things up so that they could pick them up in the next week.

 

Ava remembered the absolute devastation to this day, of waddling into the kitchen and trying to pour a glass of water.  With tears pouring down her face, hands shaking so violently that the glass slipped from her fingers.  As the glass hit the floor and shattered into a million pieces, so had her heart.  Within hours she had packed every bit of his clothing and placed it beside the house for them to pick up.  She then sat down to figure out how she was going to make it with a child, on her own.

 

She called her mother, who came over immediately trying hard to hide her absolute hatred for this man who had done this horrible thing to her daughter and grandchild.  Between them they decided to move into a house together so that Ava would have a support system in place and her mother would be able to spend unlimited time with her one, and only, grandchild.  Paprika was born, a healthy and beautiful baby girl, and that was the last time her father saw her.  He never came around again.

 

Over the years Ava would hear from friends how he had cheated on the latest conquest, and already moved in with the new woman.  Each time Ava’s heart would grow a little colder.  She had never dated again; never let a man get close to her heart.  Instead, she had concentrated all her love and energy on her family and friends.

 

Geocor cleared her throat, bringing Ava out of the past and back to the present.  “Have you made up your mind what you will do, Ava?”

 

Ava, on impulse, jumped out of the chair and strode across the floor to Geocor.  “Yes, I have.  I know what moment I would like to go back to and change.”

 

Geocor reached down and held both hands, turning them both back towards the mirror.  “Okay, Ava, I need you to close your eyes and concentrate on the moment you want to return to.”

 

Ava closed her eyes and concentrated so hard that furrows appeared above her eyes.  Geocor began chanting in a strange, fluid language.  In the distance a rhythmic drumming began, growing in sound until Ava couldn’t even hear her heartbeat anymore.  The drums became so loud that Ava felt her teeth shaking with each beat, and her heart was now beating in time to the rhythm.

 

Suddenly a hand grabbed her shoulder and Ava screamed and flung open her eyes.  Her friend jumped about a foot off the floor, “Good Lord Ava, are you okay?  You’ve been gone so long I came to check on you.  You were just standing in front of the mirror with your eyes closed, and now you look as if you’ve seen a ghost!”

 

Ava looked into the mirror, taking in her dark hair and minimal wrinkles.  The drums were still pounding away, and Ava realized it was the bass from the music being played in the club.  Her friend was still looking at her with concern, so Ava flashed one of her ready smiles and headed back out into the club.  She positioned herself at the bar, knowing in a few minutes Hayden would be approaching her.

 

Sure enough, there he came.  God, she had forgotten how handsome he truly was.  With each step he took, Ava’s mind flashed through the years ahead, reliving every moment in exquisite detail.  Finally, there he was.  Her heart was beating so loudly she could hear it over the music as he shyly smiled down at her.

 

“Hi, my name is Hayden.  Would you . . . is it possible . . . will you dance with me?”

 

An eternity passed in a second as Ava stared up at Hayden, until she gave her answer, “Hello Hayden.  My name is Avalon, but you can call me Ava.  And yes, I’d love to dance with you.”

 

Suddenly time stopped, everyone froze in place but Ava, and silence descended across the room.  Geocor popped into view a few feet away, and it was obvious she was agitated.

 

“What are you doing, Ava?!?  I thought you came back to change things.  Are you really going to let this man . . . “ Her face shriveled up in distaste at the word, and she glared at the stationary figure as she continued, “. . . this man break your heart all over again?”  Geocor’s tirade continued for a few more minutes before she started to calm down.  Finally, looking exhausted, drained, and completely bewildered, Geocor looked into Ava’s strong face and simply said, “Why?”

 

Ava’s eyes welled up with tears, but a broad smile split her face.  “I can answer your question with one word . . . Paprika!”  Geocor was about to break in, but Ava silenced her with a gesture.  “Please hear me out.  I have no intention of squandering the chance you have given me.”  Geocor’s mouth was working furiously, but no sound came out as Ava continued, “You say you’ve watched over me for years, but you evidently do not know me.  Although, at first, my intention was to tell Hayden to take a flying leap, by doing so I would lose my daughter.  Also, I have no idea how else it might change my life – better or worse?  Regardless, there is one thing I know for certain, changing the course of your life by changing a milestone event is inherently dangerous.  I do plan on making some changes this time around, but they will be personal changes.”

 

Geocor’s mouth stopped moving, and her head cocked a little to the side.  “Personal changes?”

 

“Yes, personal changes.  I can’t change the fact that I fall in love with Hayden and have Paprika, because it’s an integral part of who I am.”  Ava stepped closer to Geocor, earnestly trying to put her thoughts and feelings into words this unearthly creature could understand.

 

“What I can change is my reaction to it.  Instead of locking down my heart and being so afraid of getting hurt again that I don’t allow myself to love, I will be open and receptive to the idea that there is a man out there worthy of my attention.  I may not find him, and I will probably not actively look for him, but I will not turn him away if he appears.   I don’t know how else to say it . . . ”

 

Geocor’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears as she stared into the face of this proud, stubborn, bewildering human.  She couldn’t help but admire Ava and realized her view of humans in general had been profoundly changed by this encounter.

 

“Ava, while I do not completely understand what you’re saying, I will leave you in peace to change what you will.”

 

Ava returned to Hayden’s side as Geocor faded and the last thing she heard her say was, “I’ll be watching . . .” before the music roared back into existence and Hayden took her hand.

 

 

* * *

 

Ava woke in the middle of the night, unsure what had roused her.  She got out of bed, draped on her housecoat, and padded across the room to her favorite chair by the window.  She realized that winter had made itself known as she stared out at the first snowfall of the season.   The blanket of white was oddly comforting, and she found herself pressing her forehead against the window, eyes swallowing in the scene before her.

 

A sound behind her caused her to start, and then she laughed at herself for being so silly when the second snore came.  You’re getting old, old girl, she thought to herself as she walked over to look lovingly down at her husband.  She still couldn’t believe how lucky she was, for not only had this man given her thirty years of unending love, he had also adopted her daughter, Paprika, giving her the father she would never have known otherwise.

 

She leaned over and kissed him gently, whispering, “Thank you, my love, for being the man I didn’t think existed.”  She shed her housecoat and crawled back into bed.  He rolled over and wrapped his arms around her as she drifted back to sleep with a smile on her face.

 

Categories: Short Story Writing

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Runaway

 

Although it was almost midnight, the bus station was still packed.  It was Friday night and students from the local college were heading home for the weekend.  A few military men were still milling around, waiting for the Midnight Express, or the “Dark & Dirty” as it as affectionately (and sometimes not so) known.  The bus arrived on schedule and the controlled mayhem of passengers trying to exit while others tried to push their way on to get the best seat took almost 20 minutes.  Finally the station calmed down as the bus left and all but a few stragglers filed out.  About a dozen people were left, and they settled into the uncomfortable plastic seats as best they could.  The next bus wasn’t due until 3 am.

 

The ticket clerk pulled out his books to study for a test he had on Monday.  Most of the customers had settled into a sleepy pile, with one hand clutching their belongings in a death grip.  The lights dimmed and the only movement left was from a wizened old man reading a book by flashlight, a boy who looked to be about 15 and was bobbing his head in beat with the music coming from his headphones, and the janitor, who was beginning the process of cleaning up from the day’s traffic.  His actual title was, “Aesthetic Engineer” but he couldn’t keep a straight face when trying to say it.  He preferred janitor.

 

He was known as Lange, and other than the fact that he was a 5’11” slender white male in his late 50’s with curly blonde hair that reached his shoulders and sky-blue eyes, not much else was known about him.  He had been working the night shift since he started six months ago, was always on time, and had not missed a day of work which was all his employer cared about.  Lange kept his head down and, humming, he swept the floor.  Every now and then his glance would fall upon the boy with the headphones, who was trying to look tough and nonchalant.  The effect was ruined by the nervous glances the teenager kept shooting around the room from red-rimmed eyes, the obvious result of recent tears.

 

When the old man finally shut his book and curled up to sleep, Lange began making his way towards the boy.  The teen was dressed plainly in jeans and a jersey from some obscure minor league baseball team.  Lange stepped in front of the boy, who had his head down but was watching Lange closely through the shaggy black hair that hung down in front of his face.  Lange smiled winningly at the youth and motioned him to take the headphones off.  With a shrug and a scowl, the boy pulled off the headset.

 

“Whaddaya want Old-Timer,” he growled, with false bravado and just a hint of a Southern accent.

 

Lange looked down at the boy, his rough leathery face set in such a stern mask that the boy involuntarily shrank back.  Lange’s eyes twinkled merrily as he broke into such a sweet smile that it was instantly transformed by warmth.

 

“Just wanted to compliment you on your jersey.  That’s the Tornados from down in Texas, ain’t it?  I went to as many games as I could when I lived down South.  Heckuva team!  Anyways, I won’t keep ya, if’n you’re busy.  My name’s Lange, it’s like Lance but with a ‘g’.  Ya need anything, just holler at me.”

 

A brief visible struggle played out on the boy’s face, as his fear and anger warred with his need to talk to someone.  Finally the need for conversation won and the boy looked up at Lange.  “My name is Jake.  So how long has it been since ya seen the Tornados play?”

 

“Ah,” Lange stretched and sat down across from Jake, “it’s been years.  How ‘bout you?  Go to many games?”

 

The two talked baseball for the next 20 minutes, arguing good-naturedly about who was the best, and worst, player.  When the chatter slowed down, Lange leaned back and crossed his arms.

 

“You’re a runaway, ain’tcha?”

 

Jake went rigid and his eyes grew wary.  “No sir, I’m 18.  Headed to the city to find work.”

 

Lange laughed so hard he snorted.  “Son, if you’re 18 I’ll eat my boot.  My guess is you had some family or school trouble and decided to head out on your own.  You’re headed for the city alright, but you ain’t lookin’ for work, you’re hoping to disappear.  Yup, I figger you’re a runaway, shore ‘nuf.  Now, before you go gettin’ mad, walkin’ off, or tunin’ me out, listen to what I have to say Jake.”

 

Lange leaned forward, keeping his voice low and steady, his blue eyes locked onto Jake’s brown ones.  “I don’t know what happened to you Jake, m’man, but I do know this – the city is a dangerous place for a nice boy like you to be lost in.  There’s a place, not too far from here, that takes in runaways no questions asked.  Now if your problem is a temporary one, and your parents are goin’ crazy right now lookin’ for ya, they’ll keep you safe and bring your parents to you.  If your problem is serious, and what’s waiting for ya at home is as bad as or worse than what these streets have to offer, it’s a place that will take you in and take care of you.  They are a family, and they support each other, as well as their surrogate children.  If you truly are in trouble, they can help you.  Jake will disappear.  You might become a Tim or a Chris.  You’ll finish school, your clothes will be paid for, and you will be loved.  As long as you follow the rules and keep your nose clean, you’ll be fine.”

 

“Sounds too good to be true,” Jake muttered.  “How do I know what you’re tellin’ me is true?  How do I know you ain’t the guy I need to be afraid of?”

 

Lange sighed, “You don’t.  It’s one of many choices you’re gonna have to make.  You just got to go on gut instinct sometimes.  I wanna show you something though, before you make up your mind.”  Lange bent down and grabbed the CD case lying next to Jake.  The picture on the front was a grinning black man on a motorcycle in front of an alley covered in graffiti.  Lange pulled out the front cover and pointed to the area where the artist normally puts his personal message.  “Before you read that, here’s the card of the place I want to take you.”

 

Jake took the card and glanced at the name on it:

 

Joldy Wallace, Director

The Highlight House

 

Then he read the message Juju Day had put on his CD.  A special thank you to Joldy and Highlight House, I wouldn’t be here without you guys and I love you – Peace Always.”  Jake’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked back and forth between the two pieces of paper.  Within seconds he looked up at Lange, his eyes lit up with excitement, “I’ll go, Lange, I’ll go to Highlight House.”

 

Lange beamed down at him, “Thank God.  You’ve made the right choice son.  If you’ll give me a few minutes, I’ll clock out for lunch and take you on over.”  Jake nodded, then settled back to wait.  A few minutes later Lange returned and the two started out the door chatting happily.  Neither of them noticed the wizened old man roll off the chair, knocking his book to the ground, and slipping out after them.

 

They had only gone a few blocks when they began to feel uneasy.  The city was never a safe place, but it was particularly nasty at 2am.  Lange felt someone was following them, but every time he snuck a look back the street was empty and silent.  By the next block Jake’s hair was standing on end, and his arms had broken out in goose bumps.  About the time he turned to ask Lange what was going on, the streetlight above them exploded in a rush of falling glass.  Lange pushed Jake towards the brick wall and put his finger over his lips to ensure Jake’s silence.

 

Lange turned back to face the shadowy figure that was slowly approaching.  The old man from the station stopped a few feet away from Lange.  He was dressed in a black turtleneck and slacks, with shoes that made no sound as he walked.  The stranger surveyed the scene in front of him, nodding to Jake and then focusing his attention on Lange.  “Sorry about the glass, I didn’t mean to harm you I just wanted to get your attention.”

 

Lange crossed his arms.  “Well, it certainly worked.  Is there something I can do for you stranger?”

 

“Well, actually there is.  You’re messing in business that doesn’t concern you, and this is a friendly warning for you to go find work elsewhere.”  The stranger’s voice was friendly enough, but raspy, as if he wasn’t used to talking.

 

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re talking ‘bout, mister.  Can you be a little more specific?”

 

The stranger chuckled, a sound that sent a nervous shiver through Jake although Lange seemed unaffected.  “My business involves runaways.  You’ve cut my recruits down by half, and I need those boys.  I’ll give you another chance, walk away now and I’ll let you live.”

 

Lange glanced at Jake, who was staring at him with a mute plea, then turned his attention back to the stranger.  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir.  This boy is with me, and he’s going to stay with me until I’ve delivered him safely to his new home.  Us southerner’s are a little particular ‘bout keeping the promises we make, some folks call us downright stubborn.”

 

The stranger cackled delight at this answer, which he seemed to be expecting.  “As you will noble janitor,” he mocked and started toward Lange.  As he walked his form seemed to melt and fold, features on his face retracting and tightening.  The man who stopped in front of Lange was younger, with a face that bordered on beautiful with no flaws or imperfections to be seen.

 

“What are you,” breathed Lange as he stepped back a pace.

 

“I’m a warlock you silly man.  You should have taken my offer to flee.  Although you still would have died, it would’ve been much less painful.”  Without warning the man lifted his hands and pointed them at Lange, chanting strange words in a low monotone.  Red and black sparks started spreading across his fingers, building in strength, until the man suddenly made a chopping motion and sent the streams of fire directly at Lange.

 

Lange held up his hand, uttered one word, and the flames died in mid-air.

 

“What are you,” breathed the man, as he backed up a pace.

 

“I’m a child of light, you silly man.  You should have left well enough alone.  You still had half the runaways, but now you’ve gotten greedy.  Jake is a child of light, with a bright future ahead of him, you never should have messed with him.”

 

With that Lange lazily flicked a finger at the man, who let out a scream of terror before being surrounded by a cloud of light.  When the light had finally dissipated there was nothing left but the clothing lying on the ground in a smoldering pile.  Lange turned his attention to Jake.  “Are you okay, son?”

 

Jake was shaking so badly he couldn’t even begin to answer that question.  With a moan the boy collapsed against the wall, losing consciousness.  Lange walked over and knelt beside him, placing his hand on Jake’s head.  A pulsing glow flowed through Lange’s hand and into Jake, who groaned and then lapsed into silence with a smile on his face.  Lange reached down and picked Jake up, then carried him off down the street.

 

Jake woke up the next morning with a small headache, but minus the ever-present knot in his stomach.  For the first time in years he felt secure, and ready to explore what this day would bring.  It seemed as though he had always been in The Highlight House, but he had a vague memory of some other place.  Starving and excited, he leapt out of bed and headed downstairs for breakfast before the bus came to take him to school.

 

About 500 hundred miles away, a man stepped off the bus and squinted up at the morning sun.  He walked into the bus station and approached the notice board, which was filled with pictures of missing children.  Hidden away in the corner was a notice listing open positions at the bus station.  He grabbed the notice and took it up to the counter where a bleary-eyed clerk was finishing up a ticket sale.  He smiled at her as he handed her the paper.  “Good morning, my name is Lange and I’d like to apply for the night shift janitor position.”

 

 

Categories: Short Story Writing

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The Journey of Karat Kayke – Introduction

Note: This is the back story leading up to my female human rogue beginning her D&D journey.  This is the first character I ever rolled and my first foray into the extremely addictive world of Dungeons & Dragons.  I haven’t kept great notes on the campaign but hopefully I can convince my party members to remind me of what all we’ve been through so I can jot down some stories here!  Hope you enjoy, Pjacks

Karat Kayke – Introduction

Karat was born into the wealthy, philanthropic Kayke family in the northwest area of Damara in Faerun, in the Duchy of Bloodstone.  Karat was the sole child of the couple and her early memories are filled with love and laughter.  Her parents were firm believers in helping those less fortunate and instilled those values in Karat.  Unlike others in the area, her family did not have slaves or indentured workers, but instead offered parcels of land with shared ownership for a number of years after which the land was moved into the worker’s name and became theirs outright.  The other nobles, of course, did not appreciate this method of land parceling and were extremely jealous of the wealth and loyalty the Kayke family had built up over the years.

At the impressionable age of 8, her parents were slaughtered by assassins at the behest of unknown parties in order to take over the land owned by the Kayke’s.  Karat was forced to watch in horror as her parents and everyone else present were assassinated before her eyes by four persons in red cloaks and masks.  Karat threw herself onto her mother’s body, slicing her left wrist on the dagger protruding from her mother’s chest.  She tried desperately to get her to move, escape the nightmare.  With her last breath, Karat’s mother whispered in her ear, something Karat never forgot, even in her darkest moments.

When Karat was the sole remaining live witness, the four red-cloaked figures stood before her, impassive to her cries.  As one stepped towards her, blood dripping from the sword with each step, she was grabbed from behind.  Her savior, concealed entirely by robes of black, whisked her out a window and carried her off into the dark of the night, easily evading the search and pursuit of her would-be killers.

Too numb to fight back, the figure carried her easily, running at a steady pace with her bouncing over his shoulders until she finally passed out from both despair and exhaustion.  When she awoke, the sun was just peeking over the mountains.  Her rescuer had slowed now, picking his way stealthily through Bloodstone Pass, the furthest she could ever remember being away from home.  Karat sobbed quietly as she realized she no longer had a home, or a family, or anyone to take care of her … other than the silent, unknown person who had saved her life.

When she next woke, Karat was under a bed in a small cabin in the mountains, her wrist bound, her rescuer nowhere to be seen.  She was dressed in clothes that were a bit large and there was a man and a woman lying dead on the floor before her.  In her hands was a piece of cloth with three words written in blood – trust no one.  The lawmen that showed up hours later did not find the note, for Karat had shoved it into a crack in the stone floor.  They did find Karat and assumed she was the daughter of the slaughtered occupants so they carted her off to the closest orphanage, never bothering to verify her identity.

Karat was moved to an orphanage that just happened to be the recruiting ground for the Thieves’ Guild and so spent the next 14 years learning the trade.  Due to the cryptic message left for her, Karat was incredibly slow to trust others, keeping her past hidden and her heart locked up tight.  Not only was she calm and level headed, she discovered she had an innate knack for thieving – just as capable of bilking strangers at card games as she was at scaling walls and entering locked rooms.

Karat used this time to search for her parent’s killers, eavesdropping and pickpocketing and using her growing set of skills to persuade other’s to part with something she considered more powerful than coin – their memories and theories and recollections and hearsay as to her family’s destruction.  During this time she built a large network of contacts, quite a few who recognized her for who she really was and were loyal to her family.  People who had been forced into crime due to the slaughter of her family and loss of their livelihood.  People who would keep Karat’s secret and help her in any way they could.  Her mother’s words stayed with her and any monetary gain from her misdeeds was parceled out to those in need, her way of keeping her parent’s memory alive and unwittingly earning herself loyal contacts everywhere she visited.

At the age of 14, Mara showed up at the orphanage – a kindred spirit who could easily have been Karat’s twin.  They clicked instantly, much to Karat’s surprise, and within days were inseparable.  Mara did not have Karat’s knack for thieving or rigging card games but she was very perceptive and intuitive, pointing Karat towards people who held information.  She was also the only person who had ever noticed Karat’s tell when she was being less than truthful or holding back information.  Even though she brought it to Karat’s attention, Karat was unable to stop herself from somehow touching the scar on her left wrist when she lied or bluffed or held back information.

Less than six months later, Karat cheated a noble a few provinces over, Mara’s pleas against this course of action falling on deaf ears.  Karat did not get the information she wanted, though she was sure this noble knew something.  She took her time getting back to the orphanage, trying to devise a plan to find a weakness or a secret, anything she could use to get the information she needed.  When Karat returned to the orphanage, she found Mara slaughtered, lying in Karat’s bed.  She knew instantly that Mara was killed because they thought it was Karat.  Despondent and weighed down with guilt, she returned to the noble’s house, only to find him and his entire family and staff dead as well.

She should have listened to Mara, Mara who was so perceptive and intuitive that she had known something bad was coming.  Mara, who looked so much like her that the people who had killed her would be convinced that Karat was finally dead.  Mara, who had been sacrificed due to Karat’s bullheadedness, a mistake she would never make again.

Karat left the orphanage that night, packing her few meager belongings and setting out on her own. She spent the next three years traveling, learning how to defend herself, sharpening and honing her adventuring skills, building up more contacts and expanding her network of knowledge.

During this time, Jarpa, one of her father’s most loyal men found her.  He had worked his way up through the ranks of nobles and was now seated on the council of advisors for the Damaran region.  Because of what had happened with her parents, he walked a fine line, outwardly a loyal, law abiding citizen of the realm but he had a network of contacts and information that was so vast, it took her breath away.  She was even more shocked when, at their first meeting, he hugged her close and whispered in her ear, “I’m glad to see you took my advice, and trusted no one.”  She knew in an instant that Jarpa had been the man in black, the one who had saved her from certain death that day.  He taught her how to contact him, no matter how far away she was, no matter how desolate the area – he had fingers in every part of the world and he put them all at her disposal.

At the age of 17, Karat happened across a shipwreck survivor – a strange blue skinned male with seagreen hair and violet eyes.  Karat approached the male, offering him medicine and food, something about him calling to her, sensing a kindred spirit.  The male gave his name as Ghesh, and his story matched hers in that someone he loved was brutally murdered before his eyes.  They spent a few days together while she nursed him back to health and for the first time in years someone was able to break past her walls, though he did it without even seeming to try.  With a vow to meet again once their personal missions had been accomplished, the two parted ways, both set on avenging wrongful deaths and knowing the time was not right for pursuing what had started between them.

When sad or frightened, Karat drifts to water, the sound and smell soothing her, reminding her of the man she hopes to meet again someday.

Five years passed before she would see him again, the stars aligning in such a way to wind their paths together.

Categories: D&D Writing

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The Adventures of Breann Honeycomb, Intro

Note:  Breann Honeycomb is my female Halfling Ranger in a long-running D&D Campaign and I thought I’d rekindle my writing bug by giving you her backstory leading up to the start of the campaign.  This is just an introduction, the rest of the series will be told in short story form.  Hope you enjoy!  Pjacks

Introduction to Breann Honeycomb

Breann was born into a sheltered little Halfling hamlet nestled into a small mountainous range west of Dambrath.  Her people were peaceful, naturally joyful, and kept themselves hidden from the world, only venturing out to fish and frolic in the nearby Bay of Dancing Dolphins.

Barely old enough to walk, Breann still has flashes of memory of an ominous fog rolling in from the Great Sea, creeping across the Bay, stealing into the mountain, advancing on their village at a slow and steady pace.  The halflings were caught completely off guard when seafaring fiends descended upon them in a brutal and bloody attack, hidden within the fog.  Breann’s mother reacted with surprising speed, scooping up Breann and shoving her into a hidden opening they were planning to expand into an additional pantry, taking precious moments to place furniture in front of it and use a great amount of magic to conceal it from all who would harm the child within.  Breann can still hear her mother’s screams as she sits in the dark, terrified and frozen mute in fear, in recurring nightmares that haunt her still.

To this day Breann does not know how long she huddled there in the dark – days? Weeks?  When a Ranger made his way into the village, tracking the fiends and following the trail of death and destruction they had left behind, he found  himself drawn immediately to one of the Halfling homes, pulled towards a wall, gingerly stepping over the decaying bodies sprawled across the floor, shoving furniture aside without knowing why, and discovering the Halfling child, starved, shivering, and terrified.

The Ranger, a youngish human male known as Gavin, swore on the spot to protect the Halfling child with his life.  The fiend trail having disappeared in the Halfling village, Gavin took Breann back to his secluded home in the Wilds and spent the next few years training her in the ways of the Ranger.  When he felt she was old enough, Gavin told her the story of how he had discovered her, sparing her the gory details of her family’s demise as much as possible but handing her a token he had discovered clutched in her mother’s hand, perhaps torn from her attacker.

The token seemed to be a marblish-type stone, strange dark veins running through the lighter stone.  The stone remains warm to the touch always, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand.  Etched into the center of the stone is a pitch black outline of a skull with two horns stretching out from the forehead part of the skull, just to the outside of each eye hole.

The years passed quickly as Breann watched Gavin age while barely changing herself.  She became an expert in bows and tracking, helping Gavin when his Ranger duties called, hunting and wandering with him when they had time, returning home on occasion to rest and recharge.  Her only friends besides the kind Ranger were the animals she befriended, fed, and protected when possible.

As Gavin grew ever older, Breann took over most of his duties as Ranger, traveling more often and further away.  Returning from a long trip, she discovered Gavin waiting for her, on the brink of death but stubbornly holding on for her return so that they could exchange heartfelt goodbyes.  She buried the Ranger as per his people’s custom and for the first time since she was a child, she was once again alone in the world.  She spent the next few decades wandering aimlessly, returning occasionally to the only home she could remember.

On one such trip she found herself awakened from a horrible dream … a giant, land altering, species ending disaster that left her shaking and horrified.  The dream repeated more and more often, a dense fog spreading across the land, fire and black smoke billowing up and out, a giant figure rising from the middle, horns followed by an enormous face, entirely dark, no visible features other than eyes of magma and a horrible, jagged toothed maw that opens and spills out a spine tingling laugh of pure evil.  When the dream begins occurring even during waking moments, Breann finally acknowledges it is not a dream, but a vision.

She packs everything she owns and sets off, unsure if she will ever return, to travel the land and try to find information about what she is seeing – looking for portents and eavesdropping outside of large towns in hopes of gleaning any kind of knowledge about what is coming.  Her natural instinct to remain alone keeps her wandering for several years until she finally realizes that she has learned as much as she can on her own.  By this time she has worked her way through the country up towards the northernmost points.

Outside of a large city she hears about a place just outside of town that is recruiting adventurers and she decides to join up for now.  Breann makes her way to the home of the Crimson Fist and signs up, determined to solve the riddle of the vision and stop it if possible.

 

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